Buy the truth, and sell it not; also wisdom, and instruction, and understanding.—Prov. xxiii. 23.

People of England, rally for your right,
Have you no title to the common air?
Have you no liberty to use the light?
These both are yours—and you shall freely share
The holiest gift, this Gospel, if you will
Keep it inviolate and sacred still.
Jones.

THE MYSTERIES OF PROVIDENCE.

The following incident will prove God’s loving faithfulness, that He uses even the ungodly to fulfil His purposes, and that

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform.

Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession.—Psalm ii. 8.

In the latter end of 1863, I was engaged in the Afghan Campaign, at the Umbeyla Pass. As soon as the enemy was subdued, the army broke up, and the regiments marched to their respective stations. The Royal Fusiliers found themselves encamped on, or close to, the memorable field of Goojerat,[32] in the midst of mounds where lay buried the dead, both friend and foe. One day I was sitting outside my tent reading, when some eight or ten Native boys, respectably and cleanly clad, approached me, and, to my utter astonishment, saluted me with a homely “Good evening, sir,” in plain English. Addressing one of the elder boys, I said: “Well, my boy, and where did you learn to speak English?” “Oh, we’ve got a large school in the city, sir.” “And where do you get your teachers from?” “From England, sir.” “And do they interfere with your religion (or caste), my boy?” “No, sir. We receive a good education, and when we can pass a certain examination, are sent off to college, and from that into all kinds of Government offices.” The boy who had been the chief spokesman appeared to be a bright little fellow of about fourteen years. He came sideling up to me, as a child would who wanted to obtain a favour from his father. Looking me full in the face, he stated that one of their Native monitors had got an Old Book containing a great deal about a man who lived some 1800 years ago—One who opened the eyes of the blind, unstopped the deaf ears, cured the leprous, raised the dead, and did a number of very wonderful things; “and” added the boy, “you Christians believe that He was the Son of God.” And then, with a pleading look, such as none but an East Indian or an old practitioner could assume, he said: “We are all poor boys, sir, and have no money. If you have got an Old Book of that kind by you, we should be very thankful for it.” Knowing well the prejudice of the Native mind, I said, “Why, boy, what would you do with it if you had one? If you took it home and read it, your father would beat you and burn the book.” “But, sir, we would not take it home; we would take it out into the jungle (or wood), and read it there, and hide it under the leaves when we had done so.”[33] The words of the poor boy struck deeply into my heart, and it appeared as though a voice whispered in my ears, “The heathen shall rise in judgment against you,” which almost brought tears to my eyes. I immediately gave orders to my bâtman (or servant) to open one of the Company’s boxes, for I was then the Pay Sergeant, and knew well that I had several small Bibles in the said box. When the top layer of books was taken off, and the poor boys got a look into the box, they exclaimed in rapture, while their little black eyes glistened again, “Those are the books, sir, those are the books.” Picking out one of the books, and looking the spokesman full in the face, I said, “Now, my boy, what will you do with this if I give it you? You say you have no money.” His answer was “Take it out in the jungle and study it, sir.” I immediately presented the book to the boy; and as long as memory lasts I shall never forget his grateful look, as he exclaimed, “Thank you, sir, and God bless you!” The remainder of the boys congregated around him to look at the book, and then left him to have another look into the box; but none of them spoke, although their eager looks indicated their desire to become possessed of a copy of their own. I then asked them if they could all read English, and being answered in the affirmative, presented them each with a copy. The poor boys almost cried with joy; each had a good look at his book, and returned me many thanks for my kindness, with fervent exclamations of “God bless you, sir,” and “Good evening.” They then clapped the books under their chuddas (or clothing) and ran out of the camp. After they had gone I thought what a subject this incident afforded for reflection. There were the poor heathen boys, who had promiscuously heard of the word, reading a lesson to me who had been cradled in Christianity. I felt I dared not go to the Sergeant’s Mess that night, so I walked about meditating, surrounded by the mounds of the dead; the still small voice continually whispering, “The heathen shall rise in judgment against you.” We marched away next morning, and year after year rolled on, and found me still a faithful servant of the devil—led captive by him at his will—although looked upon as a good moral man, and a steady non-commissioned officer.

We will now pass over a period of ten years, coming to 1874, when I was Garrison Sergeant-Major of Allahabad. There was a very stringent order that no native (whatever his rank or position might be) should be allowed upon the ramparts of the fort, unless accompanied by myself, or some one I deputed. Not that they could do the heavy guns or ramparts any harm; but some of them had proved themselves mischievous by picking up the shot to feel the weight of it, and instead of putting it back again had trundled it through the port-hole. This would endanger the lives of any who might be walking around the ditch of the fortification. One morning early, I was walking around the interior of the fort in course of duty, when I espied some eight or ten respectable-looking Natives upon the ramparts. I could not well get at them, but addressed them and cursed them in their own language, threatening to break their heads for trespassing. One of the party immediately replied in English, stating that they had come from distant parts of the country, and had often heard of this renowned fort, being the spot from which the late Christian soldier, General Havelock, had started to relieve the poor unfortunates shut up in Cawnpore and Lucknow. He further stated that they did not know that they were trespassing, and hoped I should not so far forget myself as to use violence. They completely talked me down; and by the time I reached them I offered my services to shew them around the fortifications. I found that they could all speak English, and that they were educated Native gentlemen, and very ready to converse with me. I took them all round the fortifications, and then into the interior of the fort. I then conducted them towards a large underground Hindoo temple, and was leading the way down the steps into it, when one of them asked where I was going to take them. I told them into a Hindoo shrine. They called me back; and one of them, pointing upwards, exclaimed: “Sir, we worship the only true and living God.” I was rather taken aback at this, but soon collecting myself, requested them to follow me and partake of some refreshments (meaning spirits), when, to my further astonishment, they informed me that they were all teetotallers. I was determined not to be beaten, so I invited them to come to my house, and partake of tea. coffee, or chocolate. To this they acceded, and while the refreshments were being made ready, they asked permission to amuse themselves by looking around the spacious room and at my library. One of them being attracted by my father’s photograph, inquired who this venerable-looking gentleman might be. Another exclaimed, “What a clerical appearance he has! who is he?” I informed them that he was my father. They inquired if he were living; to which I made answer that he had “gone home.” “Home! what do you mean?” said one of them. “Ah! sir, it strikes me that you know yourself better than to make use of such language as you did this morning, when you first addressed us.” Another asked, “What was your father, sir?” To which I replied that he had been a Baptist minister for upwards of fifty years. Tapping me on the shoulder, one of them rejoined: “Ah, sir, you see religion does not run in the blood.” Some of them admired my library, but remarked that there was one book they did not see—the Book of Books. I immediately inquired, in a low tone of voice, of one of my boys, as to where it was. He informed me, that it was on the top of the book-case. I had to get a chair to reach it down, and found it covered with dust. They remarked that the other books were not dusty, and expressed a fear that this one was not much used. One of them said, “Sir, you do not appear to set so much store by your Bible, as I do by the first copy I received. You will excuse me, but I feel I must tell you how I became possessed of it. Some ten years ago, there had been a war on the North-West frontier. The regiments or troops were marching back from it. I was then a boy about fourteen years of age, and, in company with a number of other boys, went into the camp of a regiment just outside our city (Goojerat). After strolling about the camp for a short time, some of the men, we found, seemed delighted to think we could speak English. We approached one of these stern warriors, whose hands, so to speak, seemed red with the blood of the Afghans, and your humble servant was the spokesman. We had determined, if possible, to procure a copy of the Scriptures, but being poor were unable to pay for it. He put a number of searching questions to us, and then very kindly presented me with a copy. It caused a little jealousy in my comrades, but this soon ended by this kind, rough-looking soldier presenting each of them with a copy, and expressing a hope that we would study it. We had previously told him that we would hide the Bibles in the jungle rather than they should be destroyed. And, sir, no fewer than five of these poor boys are now ministers of the Gospel—Wesleyans, Baptists, Church of England. We do not all see eye to eye in point of doctrine, but all use the same language at the Throne of Grace.”

While this good man was talking, it was not an easy matter for me to control my feelings. I had to do as Joseph of old had done, retire into another room, and as soon as I could collect myself I returned to them. He little thought then who he was talking to, and that I was the rough soldier he had been describing. I asked him if he remembered the number of the regiment to which the soldier belonged. He replied that he did not, but had often prayed the Lord to open the warrior’s eyes. When I told them that I was the man, it was too much for them, and they burst into tears. Five of the party had been the recipients of the books. They at once rushed at me, and embraced me in native fashion. It was a very affecting scene, and it completely unmanned me. They then read a portion of Holy Writ, and engaged in prayer. They inquired if I attended a place of worship and where. I told them I went to the Baptist chapel sometimes, under Mr. Anderson’s ministry. One of them asked me if I would come on the following Lord’s day, as he was going to speak. I went; and, to my astonishment, he told the people how and where he got his first Bible, and that the man who presented it to him was then in their midst, and was their Garrison Sergeant-Major. This announcement had a thrilling effect upon the people. As soon as the service was over, and before I could get out of the chapel, he made his way to me, gave me a cordial shake of the hand, and expressed a hope that the Lord would bless me wherever I went. Several years have since passed away, and it has pleased the Lord to open my blind eyes; and, should my dark friends and I never meet again here below, I trust we shall meet hereafter in a brighter world above.